


The Lost Lamb

by Halighfataliter



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist
Genre: Backstory, Gen, Ishbal | Ishval, Wartime, brothel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-15
Updated: 2012-07-15
Packaged: 2017-11-10 01:27:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/460702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Halighfataliter/pseuds/Halighfataliter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A letter from the front comes for Madame Christmas, a reminder that in the dregs of Central innocence is hard to find. Roy was their little angel in amidst the darkness.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Lost Lamb

Abigail entered the kitchen of  _The Paradise_  with a loud bang and a flurry of skirts. Around the big oak table a few girls drinking bad coffee in the morning lethargy, startled.

“Got news from Roy-boy, Old Abi?” jeered a petite brunette, taking in her flushed cheeks and the letter clenched in her hand. Despite her nickname Abigail was barely over forty. The lines of her body had since long disappeared beneath sagging, wrinkled flesh but her face retained some of its beauty. Her hair, an intricate weave of blond and silvery strands neatly parted down the middle and looped back at the sides, gave her an air of respectability that made it hard to believe the curve of her bottom had once enthralled all of Central. But twenty years of selling her ass for 50 shillings an hour, made her now useful for little more than preparing stew and cleaning sheets.

To be honest, something few of the girls ever really were, they all worried about Roy. Handsome and charming, he had a way of looking into their eyes as if unbothered by the sexuality of their body and the distrustful prostitutes accepted him as they would a brother. And now their darling was at war. But old Abigail seemed completely besotted with him and the girls found cruel joy in taunting her.

Sparing but a fleeting glare at the girl, Abigail hurried out of the room. A few minutes later found her panting for breath in front of an imposing set of ornate doors. She knocked and entered the office without waiting. Behind her desk, Madame Christmas frowned but her annoyance vanished at the sight of the envelope in Abigail’s hand. She took a deep drag of her cigarette.

“Roy?”

Abigail nodded fervently, handing over the letter to Chris Mustang who tore it open and began to read aloud carefully chosen words that spoke of courageous men and won battles. Both women however had lived too long in the pit of mankind not to understand the horrors and the pain hidden behind. When finally Madame Christmas laid the letter down on the desk, her hand was shaking. She stood up and went to the bottle cabinet, pouring two glasses of brandy. She pushed one of them into Abigail’s hand, leaning close so that their forehead almost touched.

In that moment they were nothing more than two women who feared and hoped for the same child. These silly geese downstairs just didn’t understand. From the day that boy had entered the house he had wormed his way into their heart, even the one of the tough Madame Christmas. He had brought a semblance of innocence and humanity with him. And as he grew and blossomed from within them, feeding from their crippled love, life had become more bearable somehow.

“He’ll be fine. He’s tough.” Madam Christmas whispered. Abigail closed her eyes, trying to find comfort in the warmth of the woman, in her words. Yes, he would be fine.

**Author's Note:**

> Written in 2011 for the prompt "Angel".


End file.
